Krenzik's War Part 2
by TheManipulator
Summary: After outrunning the Cylons for the time being, Jay and his shipmates must say goodbye to those they left behind, while struggling to adjust to the new world of the ragtag fleet.


Krenzik's War-Part 2

Author: Manipulator

Rating: M

Spoilers: After "33" and before "Water."

Notes: This story is part of a larger arc. If you have not read "Krenzik's War-Part One" you should to bring yourself up to speed.

I didn't think I would, but I fell asleep within seconds of hitting my bunk. I awoke five hours later, according to my watch. Toby stirred in the rack above me, mumbling as if he were dreaming. My bladder demanded a trip to the head, and I obliged.

Caffrey ordered us all to get rack time, while he and Mangan did a last check, after it was clear we had evaded the Cylons. Mangan was on his stomach, drooling onto his pillow, now. Squinting in the darkness, I could tell that Nick's bed, under him, was empty, crisply made as always. Sometimes I wondered if he didn't practice hospital corners for fun, in his spare time. I was glad Marty could finally sack out. He looked so damn young, even for 19, but he looked childlike, now, curled under rumpled covers.

I ran my tongue over my teeth, and grew aware of the taste of the last five days coating them, and felt around in my locker for my shaving kit. I decided to grab a towel too. My mouth tasted like I'd eaten roadkill. I didn't want to check how the rest of me actually smelled.

I ducked under one of the showerheads, and pulled the antiseptic green curtain shut. As hot water poured over my aching back, down my face, I pissed into the drain.

After I scrubbed up, I brushed my teeth, spat, and looked in the mirror. I'm not sure what I expected, but I just looked the same. For some reason that surprised me. Sure, there were a few days of beard on me, but this was the same guy that was thinking about calling up that dental assistant he met at a bar in port before taking this run. He was going to call his mom, too, when the _Lady _docked in orbit above Tauron. There were friends he hadn't seen in years, wondered what they were doing now.

I felt hollow, scraped clean inside. This was just the shell, after all. The Cylons got each and every one of us. They didn't take prisoners.

I couldn't sleep anymore, even though my body demanded it. I put on some sweats and a tank top, headed up to the dock with my pack of smokes. I found Caffrey smoking one of his cigars, before the observation deck. I sidled up next to him without a word. If he wanted chitchat, he probably wouldn't be up here when Briar and his guys were gone.

I lit up and just looked out at the fleet in silence. Seeing all the ships above, under and next to us, made me feel like a stranger in a crowded dancehall. Even after running screaming through the galaxy with everyone here, I felt more alone than ever. I nearly jumped when Caff spoke.

"My daughter stopped speaking to me three years ago. She had two beautiful baby boys. Twins. She still speaks…spoke to her mother. She was the one that always sent me pictures of them. Both of those little boys had her face--my daughter's."

He puffed on his cigar then, squinting a little through the smoke.

"You get any sleep, yet, Caff?"

No reply. The silence built up like a brick pile. I dragged on my cigarette again. A pair of viper MkII's and a raptor sped by, in formation, keeping the vigil. In unison, they fireballed their engines and sped away. The fighters spiraled down, and the bulky raptor looked like a little kid trying clumsily to keep up with his big brothers.

"Look at that, Jay," Caffrey said, the corners of his mouth upturning in a slight grin. "Never thought I'd see vipers that old outside an air show. I was in when the MkIV's were new--"

"I was gonna call Mom when we got into port. Put it off. I figured she'd just ask me if I was taking care of my feet again, or some bullshit. There are times I think she forgets I'm damn near thirty."

Caffrey looked over to me, then, smiling broadly, now, over sad eyes.

"Were you gonna call that little hottie you met last weekend, too? What was she?"

I shook my head, flicked my smoke in the butt can by my feet.

"Dental assistant," I said. I don't know why, but then I didn't feel quite so hollow. We'd always busted our asses for Caff, he was the best boss I'd ever had working freighters, but now he was more. This wasn't about efficiency and being on time anymore. It was about staying alive. He was going to keep us in one piece.

"Hey, Caff. I--"

"We got a meeting. The whole crew in the mess at 0600. You don't gotta be a rocket scientist or even a college dropout to know we got a metric frakload of problems here and in this fleet," he said, gesturing with the cigar still between his index and middle fingers, toward the ragtag group we were now a part of, and would be, until whenever.

"Get back in your rack, and think of some shit we need. Tell any of the other monkeys that might be up, if you see 'em."

"Right, Caff."

I wanted to tell him "thanks," but I felt it would kill the mood, maybe shatter our evasion through confession. I was surprised how easily I descended back into dreamless sleep, before the lights snapped on in the rackroom, and it was time to shine for the captain.

Captain Stengler was a heavy set man. His jowly face made him look abjectly miserable, even though he was generally in a good mood most of the time. Someday, when I didn't care about pissing him off, which could have been the next day, given that Armageddon had put a new spin on life, I'd ask him why his khaki officer's uni was so small. All he had to do was requisition bigger ones. His shirt looked like it was in pain stretched around his ample belly. Don't get me wrong, he was a decent captain, and he respected us, and he was personable, too. He could enjoy life, thanks to the severe, crisp man sitting to his right, Milt Jeffers.

I respected our XO. I think we all did, even though we hated his guts. Jeffers knew damn well we always did our jobs. Every once in a while, though, he'd stride along the catwalk above the main turbine, and blatantly stop, and stare at us. He had no shame, as he would lean over, looking like he'd have an orgasm if he caught one of us slacking off.

My favorite Milt Jeffers moment (we all had at least ten of those) was when I was working on the maintenance buggy in the shop. I had to smooth out the front brake rotors on the lathe. Before that, I had to let them soak for ten minutes in the parts washer, let the solvent eat through all the worst of the gunk so I could scrape the remains off. I was standing there, the washer, chugging along, like a washing machine. I leaned against it, thumbing through an old parts catalog, when Jeffers rumbled in like the _Lady_ would implode if he wasn't keeping us all in line. No "hello," nothing, as he stuck his nose in and around the jacked up buggy, like he knew what he was looking at.

I bit my lower lip behind my magazine, trying not to laugh. I knew he wanted me to rush over and give him the lowdown on everything, suddenly try to look busy. He finally caved, and asked what I was doing.

"I'm washing the front rotors, before grinding 'em down, Mr. Jeffers."

"Well how long's that going to take," he asked, as if I was holding up his ride and he had a hot date. I pointed to the timer, which read eight minutes and change. What was he going to do? I was doing my job. He asked me where Caff was, and left. I knew I made him mad. His ears turned pink.

His ears were quite pink, now. Next to him was Linda Moore, our nav officer. I barely knew her. She came to us three weeks ago. She was hard-faced, in her early 40's. She had that look of someone that was maybe beautiful years ago, and lost it somehow down the line, for one reason or another. She proved, on our five-day run, that she knew her stuff, and she could punch it as long as we kept the old girl humming. Steve Mitchell sat on the other side of the Captain. He was going prematurely bald, was only a couple years older than me. Like Moore, we didn't interact much, since Jeffers was the hammer for Up Top. He came aboard a couple years ago. He was a career man for New Castle Freight, hoped to get his own ship, one day. I don't know if he'll get his ship, but everybody in the room was in for the long haul, now, right along with him.

Stengler cleared his throat, and read evenly from a printout.

"The following is what we have received from Colonial Heav--Colonial One. First, Laura Roslin, the former Secretary of Education, is the new President of the Twelve Colonies."

"Oh shit," Marty said, eyes wide. I'm sure we all thought the same thing. He was just dumb enough to say it out loud. A harsh glare from Mangan prompted the kid to apologize quickly.

Here I was, worried that slipups would mean life or death, rather than a write-up in my file, and here was low-level bureaucrat shoved into the position of leading us to safety. I felt sorry for her. I wasn't sure I believed in her.

The captain ignored Marty and continued.

"Second: the current census stands at around 45,000 people in 73 ships. Third: Smaller vessels, like ours, will be able to replenish our water supply from _Galactica_, starting this afternoon. Arrangements are being made to refuel from a tanker vessel in the fleet within the next few days."

"How long is a few days," Caffrey interjected. "We're only running on half a tank now."

"I don't know," Stengler said, shrugging. "This is just what I got from the President's office. Next: The _Olympic Carrier _had become separated from the fleet. According to Commander Adama, their raptor found indications there were nukes on board, and no visible signs of passengers. All three thousand souls aboard are presumed either captured or dead."

Captured? We hadn't been out a week, and the bullshit was back on. Every old coot I ever met who fought in the last Cylon War said they left no man breathing.

Stengler cleared his throat and continued. Moore absently picked at one of her cuticles, lost, evidently, in deep thought.

"Furthermore, the official word on where we're going. According to Commander Adama, we are heading for the planet…"

He trailed off, mouth hanging slack. Moore perked up, and Jeffers leaned over to look at the printout.

I couldn't take it any longer, and said: "Cap'n, where we going?"

"Uh, according to this, Earth."

Caffrey sat, expressionless, arms folded.

"Oh, hell," Coursen said, shaking his head and laughing. I joined the chorus of whats and hows.

One of Briar's fork truck drivers, Bobby shouted, from the back.

"Where's it at?"

"That's, uh, classified," Stengler said. "According to this."

Some of the guys were fairly religious, but one look in their eyes, and I was fairly sure that none of them bought Earth as the real deal, in this case. Nobody seemed to know where the fabled 13th colony was, or cared to find out if it was real, but now, it was suddenly the hottest ticket in the galaxy. I didn't like suddenly lugging around the feeling I was being lied to, on top of everything else.

Stengler waited for the cross-talk to dissipate, and finished off the list from the President's office.

"Finally, President Roslin has made it clear that everything is being done to make sure that everyone has a chance to have their concerns heard, so a member of her Cabinet will be stopping by all the vessels over the next week, affording all crew and passengers the chance to be heard."

We had plenty for them to hear. We only had a nurse on board, no doctor. What about medical care? We didn't have an engineer to actually crack open the FTL, if something inside went down. We needed more parts, especially a new main cooler line. The patches weren't going to hold. We had no dock personnel if a shuttle had to come inside the docking bay, rather than just lock on to hard seal. Also, absolutely no one on board could even touch the artificial gravity. What if that went out? Most of these things were controlled, repaired, or maintained in port.

"Well," Jeffers interjected. "That's why we're here. We're going to make a list, so when we give whoever comes over a tour of this ship, they'll know exactly what we need."

Great. Just great. Evidently the legacy of the human race, the great constant that would endure forever, was the snail's pace of bureaucracy.

The next morning, the entire crew received visitors' passes to board the _Galactica. _We would have a chance to go to a registry office they set up, so we could possibly find any family or friends who might be in the fleet. Caffrey had maintenance go in pairs, and I was sitting in the back of a raptor with Marty. Galactica was only a kilometer away, if that, but it took us two hours to get there. We stopped and picked up some people from the _Geminon Traveler_, and the refinery ship, too. I generally hate crowds, but I didn't care. It had been over a week since I'd seen any woman, other than the hard-faced Moore. Our raptor pilot was an adorable little thing, with almond eyes, and medium brown skin. She introduced herself as Sharon, shook our hands, and was pretty cool with us since it was our first ever raptor flight. She looked so tired, but she did her best to make everybody who came aboard feel at ease. Thinking about what she looked like naked made me forget that I had my book of the dead in my hands--a small photo album.

I also had the 5x7 of Mom with me. It was taken last year, on her birthday, smiling so happy, holding her birthday cake. There was no way she would be on any of these vessels, but I felt like I was dishonoring her memory if I didn't mention her with the ex-girlfriends, old college and high school pals, and others I faintly hoped would be in the fleet. I knew the odds. One, if I was lucky. Really lucky.

I had my visitor's pass clipped to my work shirt, as did Marty. We landed a little roughly on the dock. I had a feeling that wasn't the standard, but hey, we could walk away from it, right? We lowered down to the hangar deck, which was crawling with men and women in orange jumpsuits. They were mechanics, like us, but they worked on the big stuff-- raptors, vipers, the Galactica, itself. I heard it took over a hundred to keep a behemoth like this running. Viper MkII's and Mark VII's were in various states of repair. A MkII, toward the back, was tagged as scrap. A chill ran down my spine, seeing the scorch marks and chunks taken out of the hull by enemy fire.

After having our passes checked by a succession of stone-faced marines, we waited in line. And waited. It crept along, until I was finally up front, after Marty. A little enlisted guy, a specialist in olive drabs asked my name, place of birth.

As I opened my picture album, he said: "Sorry, we can't transmit photos at this time. You can leave 'em on the board."

I just pursed my lips and went on, leaving him to the trail of my fellow refugees, in a line that snaked all the way up the steps now. We waited an hour, in that line, and we were lucky. It would take all day, now, maybe, to get through everyone expecting to have some light shed on dim hopes.

I tucked my album and Mom's picture under my arm, and searched for Marty. My feet suddenly felt heavy, seeing the snapshots, prayer beads, drawings, notes, tacked up all around, and down the hall, around the corner. I found Marty, carefully placing some pictures in a spot he found. He showed more presence of mind than I did. He had lifted some tacks from the bulletin board in our break room. I coursed through the crowd, and joined him.

"Hey man, you okay?"

Marty turned around, glared at me.

"Look, Jay, you guys don't gotta ask me if I'm okay all the frakkin' time. I'm not a little kid, alright?"

My face grew hot. I've always had this thing about people who snap at a kind word. I know some can't help it, but my gut just tells me sometimes to tell them to bite me. I managed to restrain myself enough, but I couldn't let it slide, even though I should have.

"Well, that's good, dude. Because I'm not okay. Not one frakkin' bit."

He opened his mouth, I didn't know if he was going to apologize, or threaten to kick my ass, but right then I didn't care. I had lost my mother's picture. Somewhere, sifting through this crowd, the dumb frak whose face I shaved every day lost the only picture of his mother in the universe. I started scanning the floor, seeing only other people's feet. I looked up, wanting to just cut loose with a string of expletives, mostly directed at myself. Then, I saw an officer stoop, halfway down the hall. He rose, holding my Mom's picture.

Wire-rimmed glasses framed hard eyes, set deeply into a worn, seamed face. He wore commander's bars. A captain, with pilot's wings affixed to his breast stood next to the man. But I barely noticed him. I was focused the Commander. The Man. I moved toward them, and the old man looked up. As soon as his eyes met mine, I knew it was William Adama. There was no trace of fear, or uncertainty in his gaze.

"Excuse me, sir," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I wanted to kick myself for sounding so meek, but when he looked up at me, it was the best I could muster.

"Did you lose this, son," he said, bending the question to sound like a statement of fact, which it was. But I was sure he knew that already.

"Y-yessir."

In the corner of my eye, I could see Marty peering over my shoulder.

"Is this your Mother," he asked.

I could just nod.

"What's your name?"

"Jay Krenzik, sir. You're Commander Adama, aren't you?"

He barely nodded, his expression unwavering. This was a man who didn't waste any word, any motion.

"Where are you from, Jay Krenzik?"

He said my name. The man who led us out of the cloud at Ragnar, who turned his guns on the Cylon basestar, protected us as we jumped to safety, beyond the Red Line, said my name.

"I'm from Zosimo, On Libron. I'm a mechanic on the freighter _Lady of Libron II."_

Beyond the Red Line, he dared the Cylons to keep chasing us down, and no matter what, he didn't leave anyone behind. Even us, as our bucket barely held together. He saved us all.

Looking up at me, he nodded again.

"Good. This fleet needs all the mechanics it can get. You keep your mother and everyone we left behind close. They're with us. Always. Don't ever forget that."

He and the captain eased by us, as I felt my throat choke up, and my vision blur with tears.

I didn't want to be afraid anymore. I wanted to believe in Earth.


End file.
